


A Full Belly, A Full Heart & A Lighter Conscience

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Apologies, Childhood Memories, Conciliatory Gestures, Episode Fix-It: s04e03 The Final Problem, Family Dinners, Flashbacks, Full Refrigerator, Gen, Holmes Brothers, Missing Scene, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes Feels, POV Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Apologizes, Sherlock Cooking, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-02-14 10:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13005834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: Sherlock attempts to apologize to Mycroft for the clown incident with food. Mycroft isn't entirely sure what to think. But as dinner is made and they begin to eat, the air clears between them more.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a fic requested by **a-studyinsherlock** with the prompt " _John and Sherlock making dinner for Mycroft to apologize for scaring him and Mycroft (and/or the other characters) could have flashbacks to happy times that resurface in the cooking/having dinner/being together_ " set during "The Final Problem" but before the epilogue.

A full refrigerator.

Damn him.

As he stared into what had been a pristine empty refrigerator that morning with some level of distaste, in the back of his mind he felt...grateful. That after everything, Sherlock still wanted to make an effort. Still cared enough to not see his brother with an empty fridge and without a stack of takeaway menus to take the food’s place.

Caring was an advantage after all, so it seemed.

At least the food was healthy. He was thankful for that. That showed some level of maturity in his younger brother that hadn’t been there previously. Prior to his encounter with Eurus, face to face, at Sherrinford. He remembered the clown and shuddered. Sherlock may have had a laugh at it, but then Sherlock knew he was a coulrophobe.

It could have ended so much worse, after all, if it hadn’t ended when it did.

And Sherlock could have continued to be a smartarse, tweaking at his diets by filling the refrigerator with food specifically meant to tempt and sabotage. As far as he could tell, though, there wasn’t a single sweet thing there, except maybe the pressed cider in the bottle (unfiltered, natural and he hoped non-alcoholic) which was close to the edge on the top shelf. A treat, but a healthier treat that Jaffa cake and Jammy Dodgers.

Of course, he hadn’t checked his cupboards yet. There could still be a snack cake or two waiting for him.

He had no idea why Sherlock did this, though. There wasn’t anything in their recent (and warmer) conversations to indicate Mycroft had said he was starving himself again. Admittedly he _was_ , but with the stress of everything, wasn’t it to be expected? Either binge or starve, and he had no desire to go back to how he had been.

Even if, in some ways, that had been a better time.

He reached for the cider and went to get a glass. He would explore the rest of his kitchen later, but right now, the cold cider would feel good. He felt, surprisingly, a wellspring of emotion springing up in him. This rather thoughtful gift from his brother reminded him of the warm, happy child he had been before...well, before everything.

_“Mikey! Mikey! I have a present for you.” Mycroft looked up and saw his brother coming over with a plate. On the plate was a doughnut with some sort of whipped cream on top and Jelly Belly's sprinkled on top. Not particularly appetizing, but it seemed it was Sherlock’s idea to make this particular concoction. Eurus never considered to bring him food._

_“What is the occasion?” he asked, turning to look at the plate before taking it and setting it on the book he had been studying._

_“It’s Big Brother Day. I decided,” Sherlock said, nodding his head as his curls bounced. “They’re all your favorites, right?”_

_He smiled at that. “Not all at once, usually, but thank you,” Mycroft said, picking the doughnut up and taking a bite, making sure he got a bit of everything._

_Not bad, he thought to himself. Not bad, really. And the smile he gave his little brother was genuine, receiving a blindingly bright one in turn. Maybe having younger siblings wasn’t so bad after all..._

He was pulled from the rather pleasant memory by the sound of footsteps coming into the kitchen. He’d just poured the juice when he saw Sherlock and John standing there, holding what looked like a loaf of fresh bread and a bottle of wine. “What is the occasion?” Mycroft asked.

“An apology,” Sherlock said. “Did you like your gift?”

“No hidden Jaffa cakes, I assume?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock shook his head. “I asked Anthea what rabbit food you ate most, and then made sure there were twice as many vegetables and fruits.” He set the bread on the worktop. “And there’s whole wheat everything, low carb everything, even gluten free...” He trailed off.

John cleared his throat. “We thought we’d make you dinner. Molly made the bread, Mrs. Hudson suggested the wine, and Sherlock made sure all the ingredients were here.”

Mycroft nodded. “I suppose I could be amenable to that.” He gave his brother a small smile and got one in return. Not as bright as the smiles of the past, but it was a start.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite all his years of espionage-like activities towards his brother after he had left home and been in a position to keep tabs on him, Mycroft didn’t know if anything Sherlock cooked would be edible in the least. Oh, he knew his brother had been a bachelor for a long while and would have to have at least a few rudimentary skills to survive, but then there were also ready-made meals and the like. So he had been surprised to see Sherlock doing most of the cooking and John keeping him company.

It made him think, for a few moments, of just how much he had missed with the age difference and the duties thrust upon him at a young age.

Perhaps this could be the start of a concerted effort to mend their relationship...and it could go both ways.

“This is a rather decent red,” Mycroft said, having a bit more of the wine.

“I may be a minimally skilled cook, but I know nothing about wine,” Sherlock said. “Never touch the stuff if I can help it.”

“That might be best,” Mycroft said.

“I won’t slip into old habits,” Sherlock said, just a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

“No, not that, brother mine,” Mycroft said. “The good stuff is dreadfully expensive. For a minor hobby of mine, I’ve spent a small fortune on my collection and I rarely drink any without budgeting the appropriate time for exercise.”

“Ah,” Sherlock said, his tone more mollified. “Perhaps you can help me, from time to time, if I cook for Molly?”

Mycroft nodded, though his brother wasn’t looking at him. “I could be amenable to that.” Then he paused. “Your relationship is mended after…?”

“It’s better, but I feel I have a ways to go in proving the sincerity of the statements made on my part,” he said quietly.

“And I’m telling him he doesn’t have to go all out,” John interjected. “Molly’s the forgiving and forgetting type, for the most part.”

“Maybe,” Sherlock said. “But I hurt her. I don’t... _like_ doing that. I want to make things better.”

“Time and space might be good for a start,” Mycroft suggested. “Not so much she doesn’t believe your feelings are sincere but don’t rush.”

“Now that I’ll agree to,” John said. He had a little more of his wine. “The whole experience...may we never live through anything of the sort again.”

“Amen to that,” Mycroft replied.

“It has led to a few positive things, I suppose,” Sherlock said.

“You didn’t deal with Mummy,” Mycroft said. “She’s absolutely livid. But not with Uncle Rudy, of course. No, the blame is squarely on my shoulders.”

The wooden spatula Sherlock was using clanged against the side of the skillet he was in front of. “That’s absolute shit,” he said.

“Defending my honour?” Mycroft asked.

“I remember everything now. Or at least most of it. You were barely a teenager! Our parents are lousy parents if they let Rudy manipulate you into feeling it was your damn duty to care for Eurus. That was _their_ job, not yours.”

“What about taking care of you?” Mycroft asked quietly, surprised at the outburst from his baby brother.

“They shouldn’t have put you in that position either. I needed a brother, not a keeper. I needed them and you and...” He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “I may have blamed you in the past, and probably with good reason at the time, but you sure as hell didn’t create or compound the problem. That’s squarely on their shoulders.” Sherlock opened his eyes and looked over at Mycroft. “You’ve deserved far better. I realize that now.”

“Oh,” Mycroft said quietly.

“And I’ll do my part to make things better,” he continued. “If you want to take the olive branch.”

“I think I shall,” Mycroft said. “If you’ll take mine.”

Sherlock nodded and then turned back to the food he was preparing. Mycroft was struck, just for a moment, of an image from their childhood, of Sherlock trying his hand at something that he couldn’t quite remember and failing, trying hard to keep himself composed. And he had watched their parents ignore him and he had been there, showing him how to succeed in his task. How long had it been since Sherlock had given him a smile as bright as he had that day? Had there been wide smiles after Eurus had done what she had done.

He found he couldn’t remember.

“Sherlock?” Mycroft said, his voice tentative.

“Yes?” Sherlock asked, not looking at his brother.

“I think you...have turned out rather well, all things considered,” he said, his voice slow.

Sherlock turned then, looking at him with wide eyes, and then the edges of a smile crept onto his face. Just a small tugging of the corners upward, but he could tell Sherlock knew it was a genuine compliment with no strings attached. “I don’t think you did so badly for yourself, either,” he replied.

Mycroft felt his own lips curl upward and he quickly hid the soft smile by taking another drink of wine. This was a good start, he realized. Maybe soon the hurts would be left in the past, where they belonged.

Hopefully, that would be the case.


	3. Chapter 3

The dinner itself went well. Sherlock had made a vegetable korma dish that had utilized fresh vegetables and spices, with the assurance to him that it was vegan and gluten-free, and it was paired with a fresh salad and the bread. Mycroft had to admit that he was surprised about how good it tasted, or that his brother was that skilled with food, but he made a mental note to get the recipe and perhaps have it every once in a while when baked chicken began to bore him.

As the meal wound down, Sherlock kept glancing at the refrigerator and Mycroft gave him a look. “Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“Did you hide something in my refrigerator that will ruin my diet?”

“Andrea asked if I would put one pint of gelato in the freezer so she could sneak a treat,” he said. “I want it.”

“A pint?” Mycroft asked, his mouth quirking in a smile. “We could decimate it.”

“We could,” Sherlock said, a smile forming on his own face.

“That. Right there,” John said with a laugh.

“That what?” Sherlock asked.

“For the first time since I’ve known you both, that’s the first time you’ve shared a look that made me think you were actually related.” John shook his head. “I mean, I know a lot more now about you both than I did before, but you never _looked_ like brothers, or at least full-blooded ones. But there...you both have the same wicked smirk.”

“Who do you think I learned it from?” Sherlock said. “Mycroft would always have that look when he managed to garner another sweetie for himself. I observed and I learned.”

“You observed and you imitated,” Mycroft said with a chuckle. “A rather pale imitation, I might add.”

“Oh?” Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I have photographic proof that I do it better,” Mycroft said. “Or rather, cinematic proof.” Sherlock frowned. “The night of the clown attack, I was watching home movies. Mummy and Father never cared for them, so I kept them after the fire. I watch them to...remind myself.”

“Sentimentality, Mycroft?” Sherlock said, but there was no malice in his voice. It was more a sense of wonder, Mycroft thought to himself.

“Well, I do have a rather maudlin streak,” Mycroft said, his own tone teasing.

Sherlock stayed quiet for a moment as he thought. “Would I ever be permitted to view these home movies? I’m still having trouble sorting what I lived through with what I convinced myself had happened.”

“Of course,” Mycroft said. “I think I should have offered earlier, but all this...it was a pleasant surprise, but still a surprise.”

“Is Eurus in the videos?” John asked. Mycroft nodded. “I think I’ll head back and get Rosie from Mrs. Hudson, then. I’ve had my fill of your sister.”

“Understandable,” Mycroft said with a nod. “Thank you for your company tonight, John. This was an experience I haven’t had in...a very long time.”

“Maybe we can do it again?” John suggested. “I mean, maybe with more of us. You are a part of Sherlock’s family. Maybe you should be part of the extended family to boot.”

“Would you like me around?” Mycroft asked, turning to face his brother.

“If we’re to fix things, we can ease into it.” He ate the last of his food. “Molly is more than adequate at cooking. Perhaps she can host the next occasion since Baker Street still needs repairs.”

“If she will, I would like to attend,” Mycroft said. “I think it could be a very interesting experience.”

“I think it could, too,” Sherlock said. He took the napkin off his lap and used it to wipe the area around his lips. “I’ll come to pick Rosie up for her walk at noon, John.”

“Bring Molly with you,” John said, standing up. “We can have a late lunch afterward, take Rosie to a play area.”

“I’d like that,” Sherlock said with a nod. John gave a slight wave and ten left the two brothers alone at that point, and Sherlock turned back to his eldest brother. “So, how long will it take to get the family movies ready?”

“Not long,” Mycroft said. “The projector is always ready. I just need to figure out where to start the nostalgia trip. I have all of the family films.”

“Then start from the beginning,” Sherlock said. “If we don’t finish tonight there will be other nights.” He stood and then went to the refrigerator. “Oh, Mycroft?”

“Yes?” his brother asked as he stood.

“I may have lied about something,” Sherlock said, opening the freezer door.

“Oh?”

“You have a Jaffa cake hidden in your pantry,” he said, reaching for the gelato. “But just the one.”

“I don’t think one will be too terrible,” Mycroft said, grinning. 

“No, I don’t think it will either.” Sherlock got the pint-sized container and then shut the freezer door. “Should we bother with bowls?”

“Only if you plan on cleaning up after all of this.”

“No bowls, then.” Sherlock went to grab fresh spoons and Mycroft’s smile got a little wider. Hopefully, this really would be a fresh start for them. If anyone deserved it most in the world, he thought to himself, it was the two of them.


End file.
